Page 33 of Fitch

He didn’t know.

And it was also pretty clear to me that he had genuine feelings for this boy. Sure, he’d said as much the other day when I’d turned up at his place.

But I could see it written all over him now.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. Because I was. Sorry for the hurt he felt and for the pain I was about to add.

“He’s been off radar for years,” I added gently. “Went to boarding school, apparently, and never went home. Not during school holidays, not when he graduated. He just... disappeared.”

Nolan nodded. “He said he grew up wanting nothing else but to leave them,” he whispered.

“The cops don’t know where he is,” I said. “Couldn’t find him. When Bruno Barbieri’s case got blown wide open, he was questioned about everything, including the whereabouts of his youngest son. No one had seen him in years and, at first, they speculated if Bruno had offed him. You know they’d always questioned whether he’d killed his wife...”

Nolan looked about ready to puke.

But much like ripping off a Band-Aid, I had to get to the end. “But Bruno had laughed and said Benecio was... a string of homophobic words I won’t repeat, and that he wouldn’t have wasted a bullet.”

Nolan went a shade of grey. “I need to go home,” he said, about to stand up.

“Nolan,” I said, stopping him. “This is... this isnotgood.”

“No. He’s at home, by himself. I should be with him. Or something. I don’t know.”

“You’re implicated,” I said flatly. “This case is now in jeopardy. Every file, anything you’ve touched, which is all of it.”

He blinked, stunned. “No . . . no.”

“He’s the son of Bruno Barbieri. The man we’re trying to put away for some very serious crimes. The son, who is currently living at your house, and you’re paying him for sexual?—”

“No. I’m paying him for loss of income when I hit him with...”

“With your car,” I finished for him. “Can you see how this looks?”

“He ran out in front of me,” he countered weakly. “He was being chased... Oh fuck.”

Oh goddammit. “What is it? He was being chased?”

He nodded, licking his lips as if his mouth was suddenly dry. “Who did you tell about this?”

“No one. I wanted to speak to you first.”

He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To speak to Benji.”

I stood up but raised a hand. “Wait. I can’t. I can’t see him now that I know. I’m lead counsel?—”

“You said his father wouldn’t have bothered killing him because he’s gay,” he said, grabbing his keys and phone.

“Right.”

“But he’s been trying to find him, sending men to find him and chase him. He’s staying at my place to lie low from the two men who were chasing him the night I hit him.”

“What are you saying?”

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